


Be Strong and Very Courageous

by sunstarunicorn



Series: It's a Magical Flashpoint [20]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Flashpoint (TV), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Gen, Power of Life and Death, SYOTOS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-22
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-02-18 18:48:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13106325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunstarunicorn/pseuds/sunstarunicorn
Summary: In the Netherworld, Sam Braddock saw what could have been if he’d never left his JTF2 unit, never joined Team One.  Then one night he’s snatched and plunged straight into what never was.  Can Team One pull him out of the nightmare he’s trapped in?  And even if they do…can they save Sam from himself?





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This story is the twentieth in the Magical Flashpoint series. It follows "Magical Heritage" and the events of 02x18: Behind the Blue Line.
> 
> Although all original characters belong to me, I do not own _Flashpoint_ , _Harry Potter_ , _Narnia_ , or _Merlin_.

The blond man in a JTF2 uniform held his weapon level, aimed directly at a raven-haired man in black armor, the armor a mix of modern and medieval. As the blond sniper aimed, he backed away, slowly, step by step – right towards the edge of the crumbling ruin around them. The sniper trembled, his gun jolting and wavering, held in his weaker left hand. Sweat poured down his face and his blue eyes were dim, murky, almost blank.

“It was my fault,” he rasped, still backing up, away from the other man.

Black hair flew with the force of its owner’s head shake. “No, Sam, it wasn’t,” he pleaded, his mobile face twisted in fear; not for himself, but for his friend who steadily backed towards a drop into the churning ocean below. “Come on, Sam, come on. This isn’t you,” he cried, fear throwing his voice up an octave. “Put the gun down and we can go home, you and me, buddy.”

Sam Braddock shook his head, trembling with the events of the past week. “I betrayed them,” he cried, the self-loathing dripping from each word.

Spike Scarlatti edged forward, careful to keep his hands in view. “Sam, buddy, you didn’t. Believe me, you didn’t betray _anyone_.” He eyed the distance between his teammate and the edge, trying to keep calm. “Come on, Sam, let’s get the heck out of here and go home; Lou owes me a homecoming party and _you_ owe me a drink or two.” His smile felt strained; his fear overriding what negotiating skills he had.

Sam’s brow furrowed, something flashing in his eyes. His body shook, the gun lowering long enough for Spike to sneak a few more steps closer. The sniper gasped, sucking in breath, almost doubling over with a soft moan. But before Spike could close the gap, Braddock had recovered, bringing his gun back up and once again sneaking back towards the edge.

Behind him, the ocean waves leapt upwards, their white caps crashing against the once magnificent island fortress. The roar of those waves sounded greedy, hungry for blood to a certain panicking bomb tech. His teammate and friend backed up another step, the stone under his boots crumbling as the sniper’s weight bore down on it. “Sam, stop!” Spike begged. “I know it feels like everything’s falling apart, but it’s _not_. Put the gun down, get away from the edge, and let’s go _home_ , Samtastic.”

Sam’s eyes flickered, but, as they turned towards Spike, they went opaque again. As he shifted to step back again, he said, “See you on the other side.”


	2. What Could Have Been

_106 hours earlier (5 days earlier, 10:46 PM Toronto time)_

Sam Braddock trudged up the path to his apartment, wrung out after the day’s disastrous call. He _knew_ , in his head, that Ed had had no choice _but_ to take the shot…by putting Spike’s life at risk, Darren Kovacs had forced Ed’s hand, forced the Scorpio shot. His heart, though, wasn’t quite so sure and the situation had dredged up the parts of his own past that were still razor sharp with guilt, regret, and loss.

He did appreciate his team going out of their way to make it clear he wasn’t going anywhere, bad call or not. He should have known better, Sam mused to himself. After everything they’d gone through, there was no way Team One was going to let him fall on his sword over a misjudgment _any_ of them could have made. He looked up at his building, dreading the night ahead – nightmares were inevitable, but he couldn’t stay awake forever. He considered the quiet offer Wordy had made of his guest room, seriously debating whether or not it was worth it to show up on the man’s doorstep at eleven at night.

As he entered his building, he’d just about decided it was worth the effort and risk to trek over to Wordy’s place when a sound made him turn…right into a textbook perfect takedown. He fought, bucking wildly in an attempt to get free, but his exhaustion and stress worked against him and he ended up on his knees, arms locked behind his back, looking up at a man he’d hoped to never see again.

Ryan was hardly recognizable to the young sniper; his formerly sleek, lean frame was now thin and emaciated, his dark brown eyes manic with a hidden obsession. Formerly distinguished robes, styled to look as military as possible, were little more than rags, worn for so long that Sam was sharply reminded of a homeless man. Though Ryan was actually a little shorter than Sam himself, he loomed over the kneeling man with a glint in his eyes that made the blond constable pull back a little in his captors’ grasp. “Hello, Samuel,” Ryan purred.

“Ryan,” Sam returned, his voice flat. “I would have thought you’d be back in Afghanistan, making sure all those little Afghan wizards play nice.”

Ryan’s smile widened. “Oh, I _was_ ,” he replied, casually pulling his wand. “Wasn’t the same with you gone…with my _brother_ gone, but, well, you know how it is.”

Sam didn’t bother to hide his sneer. “You’re not military, Ryan; you have _no_ idea how it is for us.”

A pause, then Ryan arched a brow. “ ‘Not military’? Perhaps you _meant_ to say, I’m not a _Squib_ , yes?”

Sam stiffened. “I said what I meant, Ryan. And don’t even _pretend_ you don’t know about my new team…I bet you’re the one who told the General.”

“So it’s true?” came from behind Sam, a high, angry female voice. Sam cringed, well aware of who it was. Alicia, former teammate and a woman with a grudge against him for killing her crush. She’d wanted Matt for her own; the entire unit had known, but Matt, understanding the regs and wary of her behavior, had kept her at arm’s length.

Now she stalked into Sam’s line of sight, as puffed up and indignant as an angry cat. “Your new team works with _wizards_?” Unlike Ryan, she hadn’t changed at all: long blonde hair hung down her back, done up in a braid with her trademark spiked strap, and her slender, muscular frame was taunt with her anger and rage. In the dim light of the atrium, her light blue eyes snapped sparks at Sam; she was taller than Jules, though not by much, but possessed none of Jules’ warmth and compassion.

“Oh, you bring the whole gang along, Ryan?” Sam asked, shoving as much nonchalance and sarcasm in his voice as possible. “Hi, Alicia, how’ve you been?”

She slapped him, hard, throwing his head to the side, making him see stars as his cheek stung and throbbed from her hit. “How _dare_ you pretend this is just a reunion, how _dare_ you act like everything is the same as it was before you…did _that_ to _Matt_.”

“Well,” Sam drawled, as insincere as he could manage, “You certainly have an odd definition of ‘reunion’, seeing as it involves me kneeling on a concrete floor at eleven o’clock at night, with you and Ryan ranting at me, and the rest of the gang enjoying the show.”

“And what about you?” Alicia sneered. “Still working with _wizards_ , bowing and scraping to _their_ ilk; your father must be so _proud_ of you.”

Sam struggled without thinking, furious at her insult to his team. Then he regained his insolent air. “Yep, same Alicia as I remember. Jumping to conclusions and making enough assumptions to sink the Titanic.” He refused to back down; she’d eat him alive if he did. “So, tell me, Alicia…you move onto Ryan now that Matt’s dead?”

She sneered at him, disgust plain on her face, then looked up at a man who still stood in shadows; the adoring look on her face made dread crawl up Sam’s spine.

Then the man stepped into the light and Sam’s world ground to a screeching halt. Matt, in his uniform, looking as if he’d never had a bullet through his heart, never fallen on that Afghan field, never come home in a casket. He was _just_ like Sam remembered: tall, on par with Ed’s height and more broad-shouldered than Wordy, with muscles standing out under his uniform and his brown hair in the military cut that Sam had left behind almost two years earlier. His eyes looked black, instead of the brown Sam remembered, but the blond sniper dismissed that as a trick of the light. Sam gaped at him, jaw hanging open, breathing almost forgotten.

“Hello, old friend,” Matt murmured, a look in his eyes and an edge to his voice that instantly put Sam on high alert. Uncharacteristically, he stretched out an arm, wrapping it around Alicia’s shoulders. She nestled into him, looking satisfied and content.

“Matt,” Sam breathed, so stunned he almost forgot all the magical training he’d had since becoming an Auror. Then he stiffened, realization slamming into him like a sledgehammer and his eyes went icy and cold. He swung his gaze to Ryan and spat, “So, what, you into necromancy now, Ryan? You really _that_ desperate?”

Ryan’s laugh was chilling, sending shivers down Sam’s spine. And the look in his eyes…Sam finally identified it. Insane, Ryan was utterly insane…and completely obsessed with his brother. Alicia shrieked her displeasure at Sam’s presumption and might have landed another slap if Matt hadn’t caught her wrist, giving her such a tender look that it made Sam squirm in outrage at how undeath had changed his best friend.

“No, Sam,” Matt replied, shifting back towards the sniper, “You gave me this chance yourself.” Sam froze in shock and horror. “And you betrayed me.”

It had taken a long, long time for Sam to get past that particular self-accusation, but he straightened as much as possible and retorted, “You shouldn’t have been there, I was cleared to fire. I didn’t know you were there, so I _didn’t_ betray you.”

Solemn, Matt inclined his head in agreement. “All true, Sam. But that’s not what I was talking about.” Another curl of dread unfurled in Sam’s stomach. “You betrayed me when you chose to save a _pureblood_ _bigot_ instead of doing your _job_ , _Master Corporal_ Braddock!”

Sam reeled as the pieces clicked into place and his actions in the Netherworld stabbed at him anew. But he forced himself to straighten again and hurled back words he’d never dreamed he’d say to his best friend. “You’re _dead_ , Matt. You were dead for close to two _years_ before what you’re talking about even _happened_ ; I didn’t betray _you_ , I chose _reality_ over fantasy. And I don’t regret it,” he added, putting as much defiance in his voice as possible.

“You don’t regret it?” Matt asked, deadly soft.

“No,” Sam spat, ignoring the lethal glares from Ryan and Alicia.

“I hope it was worth it,” Ryan snapped from the side, “Because you’re _never_ going to see those _Muggles_ again, Braddock!”

Sam smirked back at Ryan, putting as much bravado into his voice as possible. “Come on, Ryan, you talk big, but you never had the _guts_ to back it up.” He tilted his chin up, giving Ryan as clear a shot as possible. Ryan snarled, starting forward, but, again, Matt stopped him.

Then Matt gestured to another member of his gang, his hand moving in the signals Sam knew oh-so-well from his stint in JTF2. Sam struggled, fighting back as much as he could, trying to get at least _one_ of them to hit him, injure him enough to set his phone off, but to no avail. His phone and keys were removed without his captors leaving so much as a scratch on him; the phone’s alert silent and untriggered.

Finally less cocky, Sam looked up at the manic Ryan, a clear question in his eyes.

Ryan’s sneer at him was wide and smug. “You want to know what’s going to happen, Braddock?” he inquired, his tone almost reasonable. Sam held as still as possible, watching Ryan warily. Ryan’s smile was right out of a horror movie, his eyes, if it were possible, even more insane than before.

“You’re going to pay for the life you took, Samuel Braddock.”


	3. Missing Sniper

Greg Parker arrived at work half an hour before his shift, giving Winnie a smile as he walked in. The dispatcher smiled right back, a hint of laughter in her eyes. She was in on the latest prank Greg intended to pull on his entire team; an attempt to dispel the aftermath of the previous day’s hot call. The Sergeant mentally plotted the best time to spring his prank…too early and he might miss some of his team, too late and it would spoil the image he hoped to capture. He finally settled on mid morning and, after relating his final instructions to Winnie, headed for the locker room to change into his uniform.

The rest of the team straggled in, looking a bit worn and tired, but ready to go. Parker, tallying up who was present, allowed a tiny frown. Sam was nowhere to be seen. Greg turned a little, looking up at Eddie, who was leaning against the briefing room’s windows. “Seen Sam yet?” he asked.

Ed Lane blinked at his boss, glancing out at the hallway and thinking a moment. “Not yet, Boss.” The team leader considered for a few seconds longer, then added, “Go easy on him today, Greg; we’ve got some flex time.”

With a mental sigh, Greg inclined his head and turned back to his paperwork, postponing his prank for close to lunchtime…aiming for maximum effect. Fifteen minutes later, he took a stack of paperwork out to Winnie and quietly updated her, not wanting to spring the prank without Sam present.

In an effort to keep his constables from getting too antsy, Greg opted to have half of them in the workout room and the other half in the briefing room to catch up on paperwork. Yes, he and Eddie handled most of the paperwork, but every member of Team One had some of their own. He let them swap out every half hour, keeping his eyes open for Sam. But the blond sniper never appeared and, as they drew closer to lunchtime, Parker was getting more and more worried. Ed, too, was looking concerned – checking his phone and pacing out of the briefing room to check any new arrivals at the station.

With Sam close to four hours late with no calls or messages from him, Greg abandoned his paperwork and strode out to Winnie’s desk, pretending not to notice the looks his team were giving him from their spots in the briefing and workout rooms. “Winnie, any calls from Sam?” he queried.

“No, sir,” Winnie replied, frowning. “He’s not here yet?”

“Haven’t seen him,” Ed drawled from Greg’s left, leaning over the desk. “Want me to call him, Boss?”

“Yeah, Eddie; let’s go ahead and do that.” Looking over at Lou, who’d been the first one after Ed to wander over, Greg added, “Go check Sam’s locker.” Lou darted off.

Ed nodded, already hitting the speed dial for Sam’s phone. Greg watched Eddie out of the corner of his eye as the phone rang and rang…and rang. Voicemail finally picked up and Ed left a message, demanding that Sam call him back _immediately_. As Ed hung up, his attention snapped to his boss. “Greg…” he started.

“Locker’s untouched,” Lou called, as he raced back up the stairs; his posture screamed concern and worry.

Greg, looking between his team leader and Lou, grimaced, knowing what Ed had been about to say; if ever there was a time to use his ‘team sense’, it was now. Briefly, he regretted the breakthrough he’d made just the week before, letting him turn his ‘team sense’ off for three days as long as it was on for the fourth day. He flicked it on, trying to focus in on _Sam’s_ location, only to brush up against a barrier he’d never felt before. Unconsciously, he frowned, pushing at the barrier in confusion, but his constable’s location – and emotions – remained…hidden…from him. Sam was still alive, Greg could tell that much, but everything else was blocked.

Ed stiffened as his boss frowned, his brow crinkling in effort, then Parker looked up, shaking his head. “I can’t find him,” the Sergeant admitted softly, his eyes afraid.

“The kids,” Spike offered from the side. “Maybe they could find him.” By this point, all of them had abandoned their workouts and paperwork, sensing the rising tension in the atrium.

But Ed had a good idea of his boss’s response to that and he was right. “Double standards, Spike,” Parker parried regretfully. “If we want them to stay out of danger, we can’t keep letting them help. That’s essentially telling them it’s okay to keep pulling their risky stunts. Right now, Sam’s missing and that’s _all_ we know for sure.” He pinned them with a look, firm. “Let’s take a ride over to his place and see if we can figure out what’s going on. Winnie.”

“Yes, Sarge?” Winnie inquired.

“Any calls from Sam, you call _me_ right away. Any calls _about_ Sam, same thing. And let’s get a BOLO ready to go, just in case.”

“Copy that, sir.”

* * * * *

As the team entered the atrium of Sam Braddock’s apartment building, Spike already had his phone’s search app going. To the team’s surprise – and no small amount of concern – a squawk came from the wall of mail boxes on the atrium’s left wall. Spike scrambled over to the mail box, stopping short as he realized the door to the box was closed. Then he looked closer and blinked, caught off guard. The door, at a casual once-over, _did_ look closed, but on closer inspection, a sliver of light was visible. Careful, Spike tugged on the door, pulling it open and watching for anything suspicious. Inside, Sam’s phone screen flashed with a silver and gray Canadian flag and his initials, lighting up the interior of the mail box. In the light from the screen, Spike saw something else…Sam’s key ring, laying next to the phone.

“Guys…” he called, pulling back without touching either item. “Sam’s phone and his keys are in his mail box…which was left open.”

The other members of Team One looked over from their inspection of the atrium, alarm and worry blazing across on their faces. “The alert didn’t go off?” Wordy questioned, remembering how it had gone off when Parker had been abducted a month and a half earlier.

“Nope,” Spike confirmed, looking unhappy.

Lou frowned. “They must not have physically hurt him enough to set it off,” he mused.

“And they left it behind,” Ed pointed out, scowling. “Spike, is it broken?”

Greg, who was still futilely trying to use his ‘team sense’, observed, “They can fix themselves, Ed; remember when Walter Volcek tried to break Sam’s phone?” He hid a wince; Sam had had some _very_ pointed questions afterwards about the phones – and who had paid for them. “But if they’d broken it, I think it would have sent out the same alert mine did.”

“Almost like they _knew_ they couldn’t hurt Sam or break the phone,” Jules observed, her eyes and voice thoughtful.

“I’ll track the manager down, get the security cam tapes,” Lou offered.

“Go,” Parker agreed, pulling out his phone as Lou raced away. “I’ll get Winnie to issue that BOLO and get a forensics unit over here as fast as possible.”

“Sarge, what about, uh, um… _Commander_ Locksley?” Wordy questioned, rubbing the back of his neck.

For a minute silence hung, Parker almost visibly weighing the pros and cons, then he nodded. “I’ll call her next, see if her people can work with forensics.” He lifted his phone, speaking as soon as Winnie picked up, “Winnie, issue a BOLO for Sam, we found his phone and his keys stuffed in his mail box. And have a forensics unit dispatched here as soon as possible. We haven’t checked Sam’s apartment yet, but while they’re on their way, we’ll get the manager to open his door so we can clear it.”

As soon as Greg was done with Winnie, he was re-dialing, calling Madame Locksley. “Madame Locksley, I’m afraid we have a situation. Auror Braddock’s gone missing; can your people work with our forensics unit to help us track him down?” At the response, Greg allowed a smile and nodded.

“Sarge,” Lou’s grim voice sounded from the hallway behind them, drawing Parker around, a brow quirked up as he waited, still on the phone with Madame Locksley. “We’ve got video…Sam never made it back to his apartment last night.”

* * * * *

Auror Giles Onasi had never expected to be in this position… _the_ liaison between the Auror Division and Team One; it wasn’t nearly as glamorous as Auror Wilkins had managed to make it look. As a half-blood, Onasi had a better grasp of Muggle technology than Wilkins had possessed, but Team One’s lingo and technology still managed to leave him in the dust more times than he cared to admit. And now he was being called in to help with an abduction that might or might not have anything to do with magic. He kept his grumbling to himself as he traded in his trenchcoat for his favorite dark brown dragon-hide jacket and cast an illusion to make his low-slung wand holster look like a gun holster. The Auror had to duck back into his desk to grab his Muggle badge and ID, but then he was off.

He arrived to organized chaos; a Muggle forensics unit was crawling over every millimeter of the atrium for Braddock’s apartment, with a Muggle Inspector watching over the beehive of activity. Giles showed his badge and asked for Parker, honestly unsure of how to handle anyone who didn’t know about magic. That was another thing ‘his’ Muggles were working with him on; they were adamant that he needed to learn how to handle any officer or civilian he met, regardless of status.

Fortunately, Wordsworth happened to be passing through the atrium…well, actually, he was skirting around the side…and he offered to take Onasi along with him as he trekked back to Parker. As they walked, Wordsworth murmured, “Still having trouble?”

Giles ducked his head, sheepish. “It’s just,” he glanced back, “There’s so _many_ of them.”

A small smile from the other man. “Fair enough. I guess it can get a little intimidating when you’re not sure who you’re talking to or where to go.” A grim look settled on the normally friendly man. “Look, the tape’s not all that good. We know Sam was snatched by at _least_ four people, maybe more, and we know they left his phone behind and didn’t hurt him before it was taken off him. Spike _thinks_ one of the subjects was in robes, but like I said, the tape’s not very helpful.”

“Anything else?” Onasi asked, back on familiar turf. He was writing furiously in a small notebook with a high end ink pen; something Team One had reintroduced him to and which he found _much_ easier than writing with a quill.

A soft sigh. “Forensics is checking everything; you saw them all over the atrium; but it’s going to take hours for them to get back to us with even just the preliminary report. If we get fingerprints off Sam’s phone or keys, if they can clean up the tape, we might get more, but that’s all we got right now.”

Onasi nodded as they reached Parker, who nodded once in greeting. “Constable Onasi, Inspector Stainton,” Parker introduced the older detective already there. “Inspector Stainton, Constable Onasi. His division has worked with Team One several times in the past; I thought he might be able to add to our investigation,” Parker explained to the detective.

With a gruff demeanor, the detective replied, “Hope you can spot something we haven’t, Constable. The tape’s so old it’s worthless and forensics has checked Braddock’s phone and keys: they’re wiped clean. Not even a single print on them.”

Giles winced, scowling as he thought hard. “My division’s rather…specialized…Inspector Stainton; with so little evidence, I can’t make any promises.” He nodded towards the television. “May I see the tape?”

As he watched the tape, his mind raced as he studied the images. Something wasn’t right, beyond just the utterly lousy recording. Abruptly, he lifted a hand and Young stopped the playback. “You see something?” Young asked hopefully.

“Do we have a tape from earlier…before the abduction?” Onasi queried.

“See if we catch them arriving,” Stainton mused.

_Not exactly,_ Giles thought, watching intently as a prior tape was brought up on screen. The difference was immediate: the scene brightened, the colors were clear, the image as crisp as you would wish. Leaning forward, Giles requested, “Can you fast-forward it?” As the image fast-forwarded towards the appointed hour, Giles studied the picture quality and _saw_ the instant it dropped. “Pause it,” he ordered.

Parker and Stainton had moved to see the screen better and Stainton rocked back on his heels. “Well, I’ll be damned,” he managed. “The tape’s not bad after all…wonder what caused _that_.” _That_ was clear to see: the image was now just like the tape of Braddock’s abduction, grainy, poorly lit, with dull colors and little bits of static on the picture.

Parker’s hiked brow had a silent question behind it and Onasi shook his head ever so slightly. He didn’t know what had caused the change in quality; didn’t have the faintest idea. “I know what you said about forensics,” Parker began, drawing Stainton’s attention, “But is there any chance they might find something?”

“They’ll do their best, Parker,” Stainton replied, “Don’t hold your breath, though…these guys are experienced and they’re looking mighty glum even with the scene only half-processed.”

“How long to get the results?” Onasi inquired, looking over his shoulder.

“I’ll put a rush on this, but we’re looking at two days, minimum.”

Onasi worked to keep himself from gaping. Two _days?_ His eyes turned back to the screen; he spotted a figure that looked even darker than the others, something was _wrong_ with the figure, even on the grainy picture.

Two days was a very long time for Braddock to wait…if he lived that long.


	4. Servo Quod Pacem

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to the Flashpoint Wikia site, Sam's rank in JTF2 was Master Corporal. Now, we're never told more about Matt, other than the fact that Sam shot him in a friendly fire incident. I know that Matt's name also suffers from a bit of a continuity error; I'm just sticking with the first name that Sam brought up, way back in Season 1. Since we're never told more about Matt: his last name, rank, etc…for all intents and purposes, Matt is, beyond his name, an OC. Therefore, I've made him the JTF2 unit leader, which puts his rank one above Sam's: Sergeant. I've also given him a last name from another fandom I enjoy…see if you can figure it out without Googling it.

Spike scowled at his computer screen, wishing he could reach through it and strangle the _jerk_ on the other end of the connection who’d just dropped one heck of a lead in Spike’s lap…with _no_ way he could call for backup unless he wanted to lose this one, slim lead to Sam’s location. The bomb tech rose, pacing angrily as he thought. On one hand, his parents and his team would probably _unite_ in putting him on a leash if he did this…on the _other_ …as Ed had said once, “You want to spend the rest of your life thinking about what we should have done?”

Constable Scarlatti grimaced, turning back towards his computer and sitting down again. His fingers flew on the keyboard, inputting data, saving information, and leaving a message for his team. Then he dove into the duffle bag he’d grabbed from the ‘special gear’ locker, changing as rapidly as possible. He fingered his phone a moment, then programmed in a sequence he was _praying_ the bad guys didn’t know about and shut the phone down. The phone itself went in the inner pocket of his tunic, hidden under two layers of armor from detection. After a brief debate with himself, Spike opted to leave his sidearm behind.

As ready as he could be, the bomb tech stepped out of his room, a resolute look on his face and a glint of defiance in his eyes. He walked through his home’s hallways, heading for the door, only to stop as his Mamá appeared, heading for bed.

**“What are you doing, Michelangelo?”** she demanded at once.

Spike faltered, but only for a moment. **“My job, Mamá,”** he told her grimly. **“My team is going to come here tomorrow. I need you to tell them everything’s on my computer and to ‘Keep the Peace’.”**

**“No, Michelangelo,”** she cried, wringing her hands. **“Do not leave us all alone…to grow old without our son.”**

Spike advanced, putting both hands on her shoulders and meeting her eyes. **“Trust my team, Mamá. If I don’t go, my teammate might die. I can keep him alive long enough for my team to find us and he can keep _me_ alive, too.”** His grip tightened, squeezing her shoulders reassuringly. **“I’m sorry Mamá, but I have to do this. Tell them, Mamá, tell them to ‘Keep the Peace’.”** Without waiting for a response, he moved past her and was gone before she could cry out again.

* * * * *

Being awoken by the phone at two o’clock in the morning, with an angry Italian mother on the other end wasn’t Greg’s idea of a good wake-up call. Then he woke up enough to realize the angry Italian mother was _Mrs. Scarlatti_ and she was accusing him of sending her son out alone to die. He cut her off with a brisk, “Spike’s missing?”

Two worried pairs of eyes were already peeking in from the doorway, but Greg had no time for them right now. **“He left, my Michelangelo left; he said his teammate would die if he didn’t go,”** the distraught mother wailed.

“Ma’am, I’m going to call my team and we’ll be there as soon as we can,” Parker replied, giving her no time to argue. He hung up and grabbed his smartphone, then stopped, unsure of how to do what he wanted to do.

Lance swooped in. “Spike’s house?” he queried briskly.

“Yes,” Greg confirmed.

“Okay, one alert plus text message coming right up,” Lance announced, fingers flying on the small device. “I can show you how later, Uncle Greg.”

“No, you’ll show me now,” Greg countered. “You two have school and if you pull any stunts, I’ll ground you _twice_ as long as last time and find a few new _activities_ for you two to do.” He paused, just for emphasis, then added, “And after that, my team gets a crack at you.”

Lance gulped; it was clear his uncle wasn’t playing around and pushing him would be a _very_ bad idea. So he meekly nodded and showed his uncle how to set up and trigger the alert and text message function of the phone. Then he herded his sister back to her room, with a quiet warning against trying any crazy stunts…at least for now.

* * * * *

Any passers-by to the Scarlatti residence could have been forgiven for thinking the home had been invaded; Team One hadn’t even bothered to hit the station for their trucks, instead making tracks for Spike’s home in their personal vehicles. Greg, who’d had to detour to drop his kids off at school first, was the last to arrive. That the Scarlattis looked unhappy was to vastly understate the case and Mrs. Scarlatti was railing at Jules in Italian, using language that left Greg wincing a little.

Greg stepped in, physically and verbally, saying, **“Mrs. Scarlatti, I’m Sergeant Greg Parker, Spike’s boss. I understand you’re afraid for your son, but yelling at my constable isn’t going to help. Can you tell me what happened?”**

Mrs. Scarlatti pinned him with a death glare, hands on hips. **“You send my son to risk his life and you want me to _help_ you?”**

Parker stiffened at the accusation. **“Ma’am, I most certainly did _not_ tell him to go off on his own. That’s not the way our team works; my team doesn’t pull lone-wolf stunts like this, not without consequences.”** He studied her, frowning deeply. **“Now, could you please tell me what happened last night?”**

**“He left,”** she wailed, just as she had on the phone. **“Why would he do that…why would he risk leaving us alone, with no one to care for us in our old age?”**

Refusing to be sidetracked, Greg repeated, **“Ma’am, what happened last night when he left; what did Spike say?”**

It took several more minutes to sooth Mrs. Scarlatti to the point that she would talk sense instead of wailing, minutes that left Greg mentally clenching his teeth with frustration. But at last, she recounted Spike’s words to her, mentioning that he’d said “Keep the Peace” twice. Puzzled by the emphasis on that one phrase, Greg promised to speak to her again before they left and departed for Spike’s room. It did not escape the Sergeant’s notice that Mr. Scarlatti had given his entire team the cold shoulder, hardly acknowledging their presence at all…even with his son missing.

Inside Spike’s room, he found Ed growling over the fact that Spike had brought his armor home with him the night before while Lou stood over Spike’s computer, uncharacteristic frustration on the less-lethal specialist’s face. “Eddie?”

“Wordy’s calling in a BOLO on Spike’s car and Jules is looking for Spike’s phone, ‘cause we can’t find it and Lou says it has to be off ‘cause it’s not responding to any ‘pings’, whatever those are.”

Lou, glaring at Spike’s computer, added, “I need a password to get in; Spike’s changed it since the last time he gave me it to me ‘just in case’.”

A few pieces of the puzzle slid together and Greg suggested, “Lou, try ‘Keep the Peace’.”

Lou’s fingers danced over the keyboard, but he looked back and shook his head. “Nothing.”

Frowning thoughtfully, Greg strode over to Lou and the computer; the other man backed away to give his boss room. Leaning over the keyboard, Greg typed “Mantenere la Pace” and hit Enter. Both brows hiked at the small message that appeared under the text box, “Getting warm there, Boss”.

“Italian?” Lou queried, looking over his boss’s shoulder.

“Yeah, Spike told his mother to tell us to ‘Keep the Peace’,” Parker reported.

Out of the corner of his eye, Greg saw Lou frown thoughtfully, then the man’s fingers flew on his phone, pulling something up and typing swiftly. Without being asked, Greg got out of Lou’s way, watching over Lou’s arm as the less-lethal specialist typed in “Pacem”. The message under the text box winked out. Lou scowled, drew back, played at his phone a moment more. Greg’s eyes widened as Lou tried again, typing “Servo quod Pacem” and hitting Enter one final time.

The screen changed, logging them in without hesitation. “Latin,” Lou concluded, trading looks with his boss. “Latin for ‘Keep the Peace’.”

The three men looked at the screen; clearly Spike had anticipated that they’d figure out his password, the first thing they saw was a Word document with a message for them.

_“Sorry Guys,_

_I gotta act on this fast or I miss the chance to back Samtastic up. I think I’ve been talking to a member of Sam’s JTF2 team; he mentioned a few things only Sam’s team would know. Anyway, I put together as much as I can; I’ve got my phone with me, but it’s off so they won’t find it. I know you guys; you won’t stop till we’re_ both _safe. Keep the Peace,_

_Spike”_

Lou scrolled through the document Spike had put together for them; expressions tightened the further he went. Finally Greg gave his verdict. “Let’s get Spike’s computer to the station; we need to get this information to Onasi as quickly as possible.”

* * * * *

Giles had been up most of the night, searching feverishly through the library for information about what he _suspected_ had been in Braddock’s apartment building the night of the abduction. He was, therefore, not happy to be summoned to SRU Headquarters without so much as a nap after his all-nighter.

He arrived in a rather surly mood, only be taken aback by the fact that Team One had dark circles under their own eyes, marking a rather long night on their end, too. Scarlatti’s absence was explained by Young as he briefed all of them on what Scarlatti had managed to dig up before vanishing himself.

“I don’t know what gave Spike the idea, maybe this mystery guy we haven’t managed to ID yet; the chat traced back to an all-night cyber café, so dead end there. But if Spike’s right, Sam’s abduction has to do with his old JTF2 team and what happened before he joined Team One.”

Giles cleared his throat. “What happened before Constable Braddock joined Team One?”

“Friendly fire incident,” Lane filled in, grim and closed. “I made a few assumptions when I found out about it; we didn’t know at that point that Sam’s JTF2 team knew about magic and worked magic-side missions. Sam told us he thought his best friend got hit by the _Imperious_ and ended up right in Sam’s range when he was cleared to fire.”

As Giles absorbed the information, Young took over again. “Sam was transferred out of the military right after that incident, but his wizard handlers also managed to _overdose_ Sam with _Veritaserum_ before they discharged him.” Onasi gaped in horror at that tidbit.

A sigh, then Young continued. “After Sam’s discharge, the unit fell apart. Spike’s contact said most of the unit either blamed Sam or weren’t sure _what_ to think, ‘cause he got booted so quickly. Ryan Peck, one of the wizards who worked with the squad and Matt Peck’s brother – Matt’s the soldier who Sam shot – tried to step in and take over, but that didn’t go over all that well with the unit. According to Spike’s contact, Ryan recently became obsessed with the idea of using the ‘Old Religion’ to bring his brother back to life. Spike’s theory was that Ryan seized on the idea of using _Sam’s_ life as a trade for Matt’s; I’m not sure what I think about that idea, but if Spike’s right, then Sam’s in even more trouble than we thought.”

Onasi cleared his throat, drawing attention to himself. “That would fit with a few things _I_ managed to uncover. I wasn’t aware of Constable Braddock’s past with JTF2, but now that I _am_ …well, it explains why Madame Locksley went out of her way to inform me that Ryan Peck’s last known location was Toronto. Where in Toronto, we don’t know. What I’m more concerned with is the tape of Braddock’s abduction.”

“What about it?” Wordsworth inquired, tilting his head in curiosity.

Rubbing his forehead, Onasi elaborated. “You saw how the tape’s quality degraded as soon as Braddock’s abductors arrived at his apartment building.” Silent nods. “Obviously, the magical world isn’t as current as I might wish when it comes to how magical beings or states might affect Mu…non-magical technology. My best working theory had to focus on beings or states that might affect their environment; sadly, there are quite a few that can. But I believe I’ve narrowed down who, or rather _what_ , was in the atrium.”

Team One gathered around as Onasi laid out his prior night’s long labored for fruit. The tome was ancient, its spine crackling as he opened it, and the pages looked as if they might flee the book at any moment. Only the layers of preservation spells on the tome kept it from crumbling to dust right in front of them. Gingerly, Onasi leafed through the tome to the page he’d found. When he reached the page, he turned the tome so Team One could see the skeletal figure on the page opposite the description.

“This is an account, written by Gaius, the Court Physician of Camelot, of the history and his ward’s encounter with a Shade. _‘The old legends do speak of such creatures. They call them “Shades”. Poor, tormented souls summoned from their rest by the necromancer’s art. They possess the physical form they had in life as well as knowledge of their own skills and name. Beyond that, they are mere shells of what they were before and can be forced to betray everything they were in life. Though Sir Lancelot was an honorable man in life; in death, he was forced by the Witch, Morgana, to seduce Lady Guinevere and thus come between her and King Arthur. After being caught, the Shade committed suicide on Morgana’s orders, taking the truth of what had occurred to its new grave. Even after the Shade’s death, the soul remained bound to Morgana until freed by magic equal to the dark magic used to raise the Shade.’_ ”

Grim looks were exchanged, though it was Callaghan who spoke first. “You think what distorted the film was a Shade?”

A nod. “There are other undead beings,” Onasi admitted, “But none of them would possess the same physical form they did in life. Zombies and inferi _use_ a dead body, sure, but at the same time, it’s obvious that they’re dead. Vampires use a dead body as well, but the victim would have to be sired right at the moment of death; I don’t believe that’s the case here. I don’t care how bad the tape is, we’d have spotted a zombie or inferi on it _if_ it was there. Vampire, I’m not completely sure about; they don’t show up in mirrors…not sure if that applies to a tape as well. But a Shade? It’s _supposed_ to look alive, to look human. And it would fit with the theme of the Old Religion. What I don’t get is how Ryan thinks he can trade Braddock’s life for his brother’s…no magic is capable of _truly_ bringing back the dead.”

“Could he be that insane?” Wordsworth questioned, a worried look in his eyes. “Could he actually believe he can do it?”

Onasi shook his head, not in denial, but in bewilderment. “One thing I have learned, Constable Wordsworth. Never underestimate the lengths a desperate man will go for his goal…no matter how impossible that goal might be.”


	5. The Bomb Tech and the Sniper

Spike Scarlatti was shoved into a rather ramshackle building by the man who’d been waiting for him at the contact point. At first, the young constable had tried his best to talk his captor into helping him and/or Sam, but the man, as tall as Sam with a similar crew-cut – brown to Sam’s blond – ignored all of Spike’s chatter. His face seemed chiseled from granite, his blue eyes narrow and angry, and his lean, muscled frame taut with frustration. Spike stumbled a little at the shoving, but, surprisingly, the shoving seemed to be more for show than in earnest; a show for the two men who turned at their arrival.

As Spike’s eyes landed on the first man, a skitter of sheer terror raced through him, the hair on the back of his neck standing straight up. The man, tall as Ed and broader than Wordy, had black eyes that held nothing but darkness and a sense of malevolent _evil_. The other man just looked insane, with tattered robes that held remnants of what _might_ have been a military uniform, long, tangled, unwashed brown hair that hung to his shoulders, and an almost emaciated look to him. His dark brown eyes gleamed with madness, but still managed to look more normal – more human – than his counterpart’s black eyes.

The madman spoke first, cocking his head to the side. “Hawke, what the heck? Why’d you bring _him_ here?”

Hawke’s scowl was in his voice. “He was snooping around, getting close. Didn’t want him getting away to bring his little friends back with him.”

Spike blinked, confused, but gave all three men his best defiant look.

“Is he a wizard?” a new voice inquired. The man who entered was the same height as Spike himself, with short dark brown hair, dark gray eyes, and a muscular, compact build. He eyed Spike, a hungry look in his eyes that made Spike feel like a fly in a spider’s web.

“Hersh,” the black-eyed menace greeted. “No, he’s not,” came the solemn, regretful reply. Spike shivered, how did they know he wasn’t a wizard?

“Pity,” Hersh remarked, so nonchalant and disappointed that Spike’s flesh crawled and he found himself wondering if Hersh _enjoyed_ killing wizards. Despite his words, he still had that hungry look, leaving Spike hoping his armor was both bullet and knife proof.

“He’s not involved,” another man remarked, a frown creasing his face. He looked a bit taller than Sam, had close cropped black hair, a solid frame, and brown eyes. “Why are we bothering with someone who’s not involved?”

Spike swallowed hard as the tall, black-eyed man strode right up to him, looming over the much shorter bomb tech. Dark amusement glittered in those eyes. “True, Alex, he wasn’t involved,” the man mused, his tone almost, _almost_ conciliatory. “But, if he and his _team_ are snooping around…well, one might say he _is_ involved now.” Alex considered, then backed down with a short nod.

The dark figure turned to the madman, the two of them trading looks for several long moments. Finally, the madman ordered, “Put him in with Braddock.”

“You got it,” Hawke acknowledged lazily, hauling Spike along with him. Once out of sight, Hawke hissed, “Do what you can, Scarlatti; this thing’s out of control and Ryan’s gone completely nuts.” Without giving Spike time to reply, Hawke shoved the tech into a room and slammed the door after him.

This time, the shove was hard enough to send Spike sprawling on the ground with a muffled yelp. To Spike’s mixed surprise and relief, the room, though threadbare, still had remnants of carpeting plastered to the floor. With a grumble, the bomb tech pushed himself up, glancing around the dim room; his eyes widened at the sight of familiar blond hair and a still form.

“Sam!” Spike cried, throwing himself at his teammate, ignoring the aches and scraps on his hands and knees. “Sam, come on, buddy; come on, buddy.” The constable ran his hands over the downed Sam, checking for injuries. The soft groan from the blond was the most beautiful sound Spike had heard all day. “That’s it, buddy, that’s it…come on, Samtastic.”

A few more groans came from the sniper as he struggled towards consciousness. Spike hovered, watching his teammate anxiously. But when Sam’s eyes finally opened, there was a blankness in them that scared Spike. Sam’s brow creased as he studied Spike, confusion growing. “Who are you?”

“Sam?” Spike questioned, alarm growing. “It’s me, Spike.”

Sam struggled up, crying out as he put weight on his right arm. Spike caught the sniper as Sam’s arm gave under him, easing him sideways and bracing his teammate’s form against himself. Sam tried to yank away, get loose, panic in his eyes and movements. “Don’t know you,” the sniper panted. “Why…why do you care?”

“Why do I..? Samtastic, what _happened_? We’ve been searching for you for two _days_. And you _do_ know me, Sam; I’m Spike, I’m on your team.” The bomb tech trailed off, watching Sam anxiously; the sniper’s eyes were still confused, with that disturbing blankness in them. With a frown, Spike shifted his teammate enough to run a hand over the back of Sam’s head, checking for any suspicious lumps.

Sam jerked away from Spike’s searching hand. “I think I’d know if you were on my team, ‘Spike’…and you’re _not_.”

Spike bit his lip, thinking for a moment. “Sam? What’s the last thing you remember?”

Sam glared back, but answered, his voice sullen. “Betraying my team for that _wizard_.” Uncharacteristic hate was in Sam’s voice, furious resentment and bewilderment for his own actions. Spike worked to keep from drawing back at his teammate’s venom; his mobile face registered dismay at Sam’s behavior.

It took a minute for Spike to figure out his next move. “What about before that?”

Confusion resurfaced as Sam thought hard, his eyes flicking back and forth as he considered Spike’s question. “The _Veritaserum_ ,” he managed, his face twisting in remembered pain and anguish, “And _Matt_ …” A sob wrenched out of the frail form. “I shot _Matt_.”

“Easy, Sam, it was an accident, you didn’t mean it; you didn’t betray him,” Spike soothed, his mind racing. “Sam? Tell me about saving the wizard.”

Sam gasped, his muscles working as he abruptly struggled for air. Spike hurried to shift his teammate, trying to help Sam breath. When the sniper had regained his breath, he panted, coughing hard. Spike cringed as he spotted blood in his friend’s hand. “Couldn’t shoot him,” Sam rasped. “Don’t know how, but I knew him…knew he wasn’t a bad guy.”

“Don’t push yourself, Sam,” Spike urged, his eyes wide with fear for his teammate.

The sniper didn’t listen. “Couldn’t let them kill him,” he muttered, his eyes darting around. “I helped him…I _helped_ him…a _wizard_.” Bewilderment overrode the hate. “He asked if I’d lost something.”

“And?” Spike urged, his instincts sitting up and taking notice.

“Didn’t…didn’t know what he meant,” Sam rasped out. The sniper’s head shifted back and forth, his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. “Something about the Witch, Morgana, and a dragon. Said…said to tell Greg he didn’t regret it.”

 _Tell Greg he didn’t…_ Spike froze, his eyes bugging out. “Brian? Brian Wilkins? That’s who you helped?”

Suspicion entered Sam’s eyes. “How do you know that?”

Spike licked suddenly dry lips. “He died, Sam. He saved Sarge’s life…jumped between Sarge and a Killing Curse. He was dead months before you ‘saved’ him.”

“But.” Sam’s eyes flickered, the blankness fading a moment. “I saw him,” he protested weakly. “He was there.”

“It wasn’t real, Sam,” Spike pressed, “It was just an illusion, Sam…when we went after Sarge in the Netherworld. You _didn’t_ betray _anyone_ , buddy.”

For a moment, Spike thought he’d gotten through, Sam’s eyes were becoming more alive with every word. Recognition actually flared in murky blue eyes, then, abruptly, Sam stilled. Without warning, the sniper began to seize and thrash; Spike struggled to hold the flailing form still.

“Sam! Sam!” he cried, terror and a keening despair in his voice. “Come on, buddy; come on, Samtastic. Don’t _do_ this to me,” he begged.

Just as suddenly as it had begun, it stopped; Sam slumped against Spike and the floor. It took several minutes to rouse the sniper and when he opened his eyes again, the blankness was back. And to Spike’s utter horror, the first question out of Sam’s mouth was, “Who are you?”


	6. The Squib Squad

Team One traded annoyed looks as they stood in the waiting room of the Canadian Ministry’s Magical War Division. Ordinarily, they understood that some things just took time, but with two teammates missing, patience was in _very_ short supply.

Over two and a half hours after arriving, the Director’s secretary finally showed them into the wizard’s office. The man himself stood at the window, his back to Team One and an arrogance that the whole team was familiar with in his posture. “So,” he began, even as his secretary was still in the room, “You’re the Muggles Madame Locksley’s adopted as her latest project.”

Ed bristled at the insult, only to stop as his boss signaled him to stand down. “Director McClellan, I’m Sergeant Gregory Parker of the Auror Strategic Response Unit. One of my Aurors, Samuel Braddock, used to be in the JTF2 squad authorized to deal with rogue wizards in Afghanistan; we have reason to believe he was kidnapped by Sergeant Peck’s brother in a possible revenge scenario.”

Director McClellan turned, the slightest of frowns on his face. The Director was of average height, with perfectly coiffed brown hair, a sleek mustache, and a well-trimmed goatee. His robes looked vaguely military, but it was a cursory resemblance at best. His face was calm, with no hint of worry or concern in dark blue eyes. “What evidence do you have to support that, Auror Onasi?” he inquired, looking not at Parker, but at the one magical member of their group.

Giles Onasi didn’t bother to hide his scowl at the insulting dismissal of Parker and his team. Grim, he laid out the images that the forensics team had managed to clean up; with good tape to compare to, they’d worked all night improving the degraded images of Braddock’s abduction. Next to a blown-up shot of Ryan Peck, the Auror laid the picture from Peck’s personal folder. “We have him on _Muggle_ tape at the abduction, _sir_ ,” Onasi growled. Purely for dramatic effect, he waited until McClellan leaned forward to drop the last image: an image that had reportedly taken the forensic technicians hours to recover; a picture-perfect shot of the Shade. McClellan recognized the Shade instantly, reeling in shock and horror.

“What in Merlin’s _name_ have you done, Ryan?” he whispered, staring at the Shade, paling further with every passing moment.

“Then that _is_ Sergeant Matthew Peck,” Greg concluded from the sidelines.

It took a minute or two for McClellan to recover himself enough to answer. “Yes, it is; I’d swear to it. I knew Ryan was angry about his brother’s death, angry when we had to let Braddock off with nothing more than a discharge and a note in his military personal file, but…” McClellan sat down heavily at his desk. “Ryan had only himself to blame for that; violated procedure left, right, and center during the interrogation.”

The wizard, still pale and drawn, fumbled a pipe out of the desk, hastily packing it with pipeweed and lighting it. Team One weren’t the only ones annoyed by that; Onasi cast a discreet Air-Freshening Charm. Puffing, McClellan continued, “Braddock’s father caused quite a ruckus when he found out after the fact; if he’d found out _before_ Braddock was discharged…well, I daresay it would have been _Ryan_ with the discharge, not Braddock.”

“Why wasn’t he charged?” Ed demanded sharply. “He gave Sam an overdose of _Veritaserum_ ; isn’t that illegal?”

A wave of the hand and a tiny sneer. “Braddock’s a Squib-born; what did it matter?”

Growls rose from Sam’s teammates; even Parker’s negotiator mask was wearing thin at _that_ remark. Onasi’s eyes narrowed so much they looked like slits in his face; slits that spat brown fire at the oblivious director. “And after?” he gritted out. “What happened _after_ Braddock was discharged?”

Another puff and McClellan began to blow a few smoke rings. “Unit fell to pieces; Ryan tried to step in, take over, but the Squibs wouldn’t have it. Corporal Shpak tried to claim the leadership role; some rot about how Sergeant Peck had been her lover, but it was all nonsense…Sergeant Peck had too much honor to break regulations like that. Corporal Hersh made a grab after that, but not even _Ryan_ wanted _him_ in command – he hates wizards with a passion. Corporal Kamaka didn’t have enough time with the squad to be considered…frankly, if Braddock hadn’t been bounced out, he or Corporal Hawke would have been _my_ first choices; they were both first rate and good leaders to boot.”

“Corporal Hawke didn’t take over?” Wordy asked, rubbing his chin as he listened.

A sigh and the director shook his head. “First rate and a good leader, but too much of a maverick…too much of a lone wolf. He didn’t want the position; told me I should’ve cleared Braddock and given it to _him_. Said he didn’t care what Ryan said; Braddock should’ve had the chance to tell the squad _his_ side of the story.”

“So who’s been leading them?” Lane questioned, his voice sharp enough to cut steel.

More puffing; more smoke rings. “That is a very good question. They had enough in-fighting to have brought down half the Dark Wizards in Afghanistan by now…up till a few months ago when the fighting suddenly stopped. No more fighting, no more squabbling…I dragged Ryan in to ask what in Merlin’s name was going on and he just said they’d settled things. Never said anything more than that. Four nights ago, they vanished…every last one of them. I’ve no idea where they are.”

But Director McClellan wasn’t looking at them as he said it; wasn’t looking at anything except his pipe. Onasi opened his mouth, only to stop as Greg held up a hand. Grimly, slowly, Greg Parker moved so that his hands were on McClellan’s desk; he leaned forward, his topaz hard eyes fixed on the director’s face. “You know _something_ ,” he accused, so soft his team almost didn’t hear him.

McClellan didn’t even turn, just puffed on his pipe. The only sign he’d heard Parker was the sardonic tilt to his head and a humoring look in his eyes.

Onasi nearly blew, but Lane pinned him with a look. Cupping his hands a little, Parker slammed them down on McClellan’s desk, the noise making both McClellan and Onasi jump. “We think…no, we _know_ Ryan’s kidnapped Sam solely to _trade_ Sam’s life for _Sergeant Peck’s_. Now, we _both_ know that no magic on _Earth_ can raise the dead, Director McClellan. Ryan could sacrifice a _thousand_ lives and never get his brother back…not _really_.” Parker leaned in further, getting right in Director McClellan’s face. “We are _going_ to get Sam back and Ryan, if he’s _lucky_ , will end up in prison for kidnapping and attempted murder. God help him if he hurts Sam, because no one else will,” Parker snarled, finally letting his fury off the leash.

“You need to decide which side you’re on, _sir_ , because from where _I’m_ standing, the only person _you’re_ helping is a necromancer who doesn’t deserve so much as the time of _day_.” Parker’s voice, which had been rising as he continued, abruptly dropped back to the near whisper as he shifted back again. “So tell me, Director…what’ll it be? Will you help us get Sam back alive – or is this just a _‘Muggle’_ issue…hardly worth the _bother_?”

McClellan was pale, drawn, and actually afraid of the stocky Sergeant still leaning over his desk. But even as he stared at the Sergeant, his arrogance was fully intact and he finally displayed his opinion by blowing a smoke ring in Parker’s face.

Parker slammed his hands down again to offer up his own opinion, then turned, gathering up his team with eyes alone, before stalking out. He almost ran right into the secretary outside the door and halted, giving her an apologetic look. She was even paler than McClellan and gestured for them to follow her.

The team followed her to another room and as soon as they were inside she asked, “What did Ryan do now?”

Ordinarily, Greg might have humored her, but not today. “Seeing as you were listening right outside the door, miss, I think you already know what he did.”

She looked at him, at his expression, then dropped her eyes. “I knew he was getting into trouble; he’s been getting worse and worse…ever since his brother died. When he found out Braddock was working magic-side again…something just _broke_ in him. And the Squib Squad wouldn’t let him take over…wouldn’t trust him after what he did to Braddock.”

“Squib Squad?” Lou inquired, both brows going up.

The woman nodded. “It’s their nickname; they came up with it themselves. Director McClellan doesn’t like it; he _never_ uses it, but everyone else does.” She paused, considering them. Then she brought out what she’d hidden from the director: the personal files for every member of the Squib Squad…including Sam _and_ Ryan. “Here, take them. If Ryan’s gone this far, there’s no telling what he’ll do next. I only know Ryan’s side of things, but if you lot are willing to go to the wall for Braddock, he _can’t_ be as bad as Ryan paints him. And no one deserves to die like this…for nothing more than a madman’s impossible dream.” Without waiting for a reply, she departed, leaving Team One to stare at the files and each other.

Wordy picked up the closest file, examining it a moment. “Okay, guys, we’re on the clock…let’s get this done,” he declared, passing the file to Jules and snatching up the next one.

Jules, in her turn, looked up ever so briefly, whispering a quiet prayer that Sam and Spike were okay…wherever they were.


	7. Mirroring Life and Death

Though wary of triggering another seizure, Spike was determined to get through to Sam as much as he could. By dint of some very quick thinking, Spike presented himself as someone who’d been caught snooping around and been tossed in with Sam for reasons he, Spike, didn’t know. Seeing someone in pain, he’d tried to help and been very surprised when Sam opened his eyes. If Sam had been on the top of his game, he’d have seen through Spike’s story in seconds, but, in pain, confused, and without any conscious memory of Spike, Sam bought the story.

Gingerly, Spike shifted his teammate, inspecting the broken arm as best he could in the bad light. “Want me to try and strap that, Sam?” he asked, struggling to keep Sam from seeing just how worried he was.

Sam, sweating, blank-eyed, and groggy, looked down at his arm, brow furrowing. “I, uh…sure,” he managed.

Spike scanned the room, searching for something he could use and lit on some material that had once been curtains or sheets. Moving carefully, he dragged Sam to the wall and braced him against it; Sam used his left arm to stay upright as the bomb tech scrambled over to the curtains and brought them back, already tearing a strip of material off the bottom. Spike knelt, getting a better look at Sam’s arm. “What happened here?” he queried, wincing at Sam’s involuntary cry of pain when he re-aligned the bone. The tech pulled the fabric as tight as possible, hoping to keep the broken bones from moving again.

“Not sure,” Sam panted, trying to keep from yelling his head off during the operation. “I don’t remember breaking it,” he added, cocking his head to the side with a frown.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” Spike pressed, still focused on the wrapping.

“What?”

How to phrase this… Spike sighed internally, then just blurted out, “Why do you hate wizards?”

For a moment, Sam gaped at him, jaw working. “You don’t?” he demanded, sounding both better and worse to Spike’s ears. The sniper’s voice sounded stronger, but the uncharacteristic venom and anger were really starting to scare the tech.

Spike mutely shook his head, but added, “Sure, some of them deserve a good sock in the jaw, but I’ve met wizards who aren’t all bad…” He forebode to mention that he knew two who’d sooner die themselves than let anything happen to Team One.

Sam was silent for a minute, gasping and clenching his jaw while Spike worked. Then, “You’re lucky then. All the wizards _I’ve_ ever met are so arrogant that you wouldn’t believe it and they think Muggles and Squibs are hardly worth their notice; not even worthy of saving if it means they get so much as a chipped _nail_.” He paused, grimacing. “It was the _Veritaserum_ ,” he confided. “That and they expected me to just go back on duty as if nothing ever happened…as if I hadn’t just _shot_ my best friend. Thank God I didn’t kill him…don’t know how I managed _that_.”

Spike couldn’t help it. “You’re a sniper, you shot your friend, and he’s still _alive_?”

Sam shrugged, though only with his left shoulder. “Yeah; must have been off my game…otherwise Matt would be dead now and he’s not.”

Though the bomb tech knew better, he kept his mouth shut and finished strapping Sam’s arm. “Anything else that hurts?” he questioned, giving Sam as stern a look as he could.

Sam shrank back a little at the look. “Ribs…I think…but not much you can do there.”

All too true, Spike admitted to himself. Sam needed a hospital, a Healer, _something_ …not field first aid that could only treat the symptoms. The bomb tech sat down next to Sam, thinking hard. “So, who are these guys?” he finally asked, deciding to play as ignorant as possible. While Sam was distracted by the question, Spike snuck his phone out and pressed the power button. The phone thrummed to life in his hand; the tech quickly tucked the phone back in its hiding place, hoping the phone would guide his team right to himself and Sam.

“My squad,” Sam confessed after a minute, sounding ashamed, bewildered. “After I helped that _wizard_ , they had to do it…they had stop me from betraying them again…” He leaned his head back, staring up at the ceiling while Spike shoved as many nasty remarks down as he could. “Can’t believe I did that,” Sam mumbled.

Spike jostled his teammate a little, avoiding the injured arm as much as possible. “Hey, don’t be like that, Samtastic; you didn’t betray anyone,” he coaxed, unable to leave the topic alone despite the danger of another seizure. Quickly, he moved on, “But you were telling me who everyone is.”

Sam’s gaze swung down to Spike, the murky blue eyes suspicious. After a few seconds, he began again. “Matt and Ryan run the squad; Matt’s our commanding officer and Ryan’s one of two wizard handlers. Then there’s me: I’m Matt’s second in command and I take over when Matt’s gone or when he needs to delegate.” Spike nodded understanding.

“After that, rank is the same and it’s by seniority. Hawke’s at the top of the heap: he’s been on the squad for _years_. Then there’s Alicia, but Matt keeps her at arm’s length ‘cause she keeps trying to get him to date her and she can be a bit…obsessive.” A shiver from the listening bomb tech. “After that is Hersh, but he’s…not exactly playing with a full deck. He _hates_ wizards…sometimes I have to sit on him to keep him from killing any of our allies. Our newest member is Alex; I’m still figuring him out, but I do know he’s more of a follower. He’d follow Matt straight off a cliff, it’s _that_ bad.” Spike choked down laughter at that description.

Before Spike could figure out his next move, the door swung open. Instinctively, the bomb tech moved so he was between Sam and the new arrivals, his eyes defiant. In a moment, the tech had identified both new arrivals: Matt and Ryan. Now the black eyes and the air of darkness around the tall, muscular man made sense; Matt wasn’t alive, not _really_. Ryan, looking deranged and right on the edge of control, sneered at Spike’s move.

“I do hope the accommodations are…comfortable,” he drawled, smirking at the two captives.

“First rate – please, tell me, where _do_ you hire your decorators?” Spike snarked back, not giving an inch. His eyes spat sparks of fury at both men. “I mean, resort destination like this…it’s a wonder you don’t have people knocking down the door just to stay here.”

Matt’s answering smirk had enough dark amusement in it to make Spike quail internally, but Ryan snarled, his eyes wild and furious.

“Peace, brother,” Matt rumbled, drawing an incredulous look from Sam. “Do not allow Scarlatti to discompose you so; he can do little, save annoy us.”

“He’s been trying to get to Braddock!” Ryan protested loudly.

_Darn right I have._ “So, a little talk, a little banter; that’s a problem?” Spike asked as innocently as he could, cocking his head to the side. “What, can’t take a few jokes? A little chit-chat? Funny…I thought you wizards had a thicker skin than that.” Turning, Spike winked at his wide-eyed teammate. “Right, Samtastic?”

All the training in the world couldn’t have prepared Spike for what happened next. Ryan’s eyes went from wild to feral and he pulled his wand with a shriek that sounded more animal than human. “No!” he hissed, “I won’t let you stop us! _Crucio!_ ”

Wordy’d tried to describe being hit by the Cruciatus, but there were no words for this. The curse struck Spike head on, sending him to the ground with an involuntary howl of agony. Pain, everything was pain; the bomb tech couldn’t even curl into a ball as his nervous system went haywire, couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but scream. Another scream cut the air; the pain stopped. Spike struggled to move, to see, and saw Sam right in front of him, panting and gasping.

“He’s a civilian; you can’t hurt him,” Sam rasped out. “I-I won’t let you.”

“Let me?” Ryan whispered, the sound carrying; Spike shuddered at the malice in the words. “You think I _care_ what a _traitor_ like _you_ thinks?”

“From where I’m laying, Samtastic’s not the traitor here,” Spike snapped, ignoring the way his limbs trembled and twitched.

“He betrayed me,” Matt rumbled, his black eyes glinting. Spike glared, not hiding his contempt for the creature in front of him. Abruptly, Matt pulled his uniform open, revealing a massive bullet wound in his chest; Sam reeled backwards at the sight, gasping in horror. “You _shot_ me, Sam; my best friend, betraying me, betraying my unit.”

Spike hurled the words Sam himself had used, no longer hiding that he knew exactly what was going on from Sam. “You shouldn’t have been there; Sam was cleared to fire.”

Darkness pinned the bomb tech, malevolence deciding if the tech had outlived his usefulness. “You think to prove Master Corporal Braddock innocent of the charges laid at his door? How…amusing…and futile.”

Ryan moved in, a slavering beast for the kill. “My brother’s life, Braddock…you _killed_ him with your shot…you _owe_ him a life – _your_ life. And you’re going to pay; my brother can’t live like he is forever.”

_He’s not living at all, you dirtbag,_ Spike thought furiously.

“Tonight, we go to England; tomorrow, you pay for the life you _stole_ , Samuel Braddock. A life for a life – Mirroring Life and Death – just as the Old Religion demands.”

“You’re insane,” Spike spat from his position, still on the floor. “Samtastic doesn’t owe you a plug _nickel_ , much less his life.” The tech forced himself up. “And if you think you’re going to get away with this,” he smirked, “I think you’re underestimating just how many friends in high places Samtastic and I have.”

Matt strode right up to Spike, leaning into his space. “You think two _Wild Mages_ , young, untested, unblooded, can stop this?”

Despite his fear, Spike grinned wider. “I think they’d go to Hell and back for us.” He cocked his head to the side, mock-thoughtful. “Hey, are they still ‘unblooded’ if they kicked Morgana Le Fay and Tolay’s tails to the curb?”

Ryan’s eyes widened with shock; Spike felt Sam’s incredulity drilling into him from the side. But Matt laughed, so dark and full of malicious glee that Spike’s bravado faded. “Let us see what they have for us, Constable Scarlatti; let us see what the last of Narnia can do _this_ time.”


	8. A Promise Kept

Greg finally bowed to the necessity of 'calling' his kids into the manhunt; the whole team hoped they could locate the two missing men. His own 'team sense' couldn't pick up Spike any more than Sam, a development that left Parker shaken; the Sergeant depended on _knowing_ his teammates' locations. Reluctantly, he called the Toronto School of Magic and told them to let the kids out of class to meet Auror Onasi.

While Auror Onasi picked up the kids, the team’s phones let out a rising shriek. Hands dived into pockets, down to belts, yanking the devices up. Spike’s initials and the gray and silver Canadian flag were on every screen. Lou’s fingers flew on his phone, trying to pull up the location of Spike’s phone, but the GPS coordinates that came up were jumbled and useless.

Lou’s frustration stood out on his face. “This is _nuts_! We should have a _location_ , not a bunch of nonsense!”

“Can I see?” Auror Onasi asked; his entrance had coincided with Lou’s cry. The Auror surveyed the phone, cocking his head to the side as he read the coordinates. “Warded,” he announced after a few seconds. “Probably one of the War Division’s specialty wards for any…” he grimaced, “…prisoners.”

“You’ve seen this before?” Wordy asked.

“Personally? No,” the Auror admitted. “The War Division’s not supposed to operate domestically. But Senior Auror Simmons has worked with them a few times…he picked up a few tricks from them and he was my training Auror my first year on the job.”

“Can it be broken?” Ed demanded.

The shrug was helpless. “You saw how willing the War Division is to help us,” came the reminder. “Maybe, _maybe_ they could break it… _if_ they wanted to, but they’re more likely to dump a mountain of red tape on all our heads if we ask.”

Alanna, looking rather upset, spoke up from the doorway. “Lance and I both tried to find Uncle Sam and Uncle Spike with our magic…no go. We can tell they’re still alive,” Greg nodded firm agreement, “But where they are…no luck.”

“We need to get ahead of them, then,” Jules suggested. “Figure out what they need to do, then maybe we know where to find them.”

“Okay, let’s do that,” Greg agreed, sweeping his team, his liaison, and his kids with his gaze. “Let’s start with what Auror Onasi found out.”

* * * * *

“The Isle of the Blessed,” Lance declared as soon as he’d read the account Auror Onasi had found and the kids had been brought up to speed on the theory of why Sam had been abducted. “That’s the _only_ place they can do this.”

“The only place?” Ed asked skeptically.

Alanna stepped into the breach. “The power to Mirror Life and Death is part of the Old Religion…magic as it was used in the time of Camelot. At the time, there were sorcerers who had the innate ability to Mirror Life and Death; they could do it wherever and whenever they wished, but that ability died out when magical users began to use Latin. Latin spells are easier to use, especially with wands, but they’re less powerful than the Old Religion.”

Lance took over, filling in the rest. “Some aspects of the Old Religion are still around; many of the magical artifacts forged _by_ the Old Religion are too powerful to be destroyed, but, on the whole, the Old Religion is dead. These days, the only way to Mirror Life and Death is with the Cup of Life, which is kept at the Isle of the Blessed, the last remaining stronghold of the Old Religion.”

Jules frowned. “So, what’s the difference between what you two use and the ‘Old Religion’?”

Neither teen was offended by the question; Lance tilted his head to the side, thinking a moment. “In a lot of ways, they’re the same,” he admitted. “Most of the spells we use are spells any sorcerer of the Old Religion could use.

“But, I’ll tell you one thing: no wielder of Old Magic could _ever_ Mirror Life and Death, not like this anyway. Old Magic will not violate free will, will _not_ rip life from one individual and give that life to another. That’s Dark Magic and Old Magic won’t do it, plain and simple.

“On the other hand, with the right practitioner, the Old Religion _will_. It doesn’t _care_ if a life is stolen…it’s no more sentient than a _nail_ ; it bends itself to abuse quite easily. Old Magic has a different…foundation and there are lines that can’t be crossed, limits that _must_ be respected.”

Auror Onasi arched a brow at the explanation, but the light dawned. “So, the tales of Morgana Le Fay sundering the Veil between Life and Death…if she’d used Old Magic…?”

“She couldn’t have done it,” Alanna confirmed. “But as a Priestess of the Old Religion, she was more than capable of doing it…and the Old Religion demanded an equal sacrifice to close the Veil.” With a sigh, she looked at her uncle. “I’m going to go out on a limb here and say you’re going to need me and Lance along for this one.”

Greg Parker grimaced at the statement; it was Madame Locksley who answered for him. “I’m afraid so,” she confirmed, sweeping in. “Director McClellan, after much prodding, was kind enough to confirm that Ryan and the Squib Squad are familiar enough with Britain’s DMLE **(1)** to leave several…roadblocks…in our path. It will take an equal amount of influence to overcome those roadblocks in time to rescue Aurors Braddock and Scarlatti.”

Lance inclined his head. As the Heir to the Ancient and Noble House of Calvin, it would mostly fall to him to deal with Britain’s magicals. “Copy that,” he remarked, his eyes already harder than sapphire. “If I have to ram the facts down their collective throats, I’ll get us through.”

Madame Locksley sighed, looking over at her Sergeant. “I’ll inform Commander Holleran, Sergeant Parker. Auror Onasi will accompany you as well, so that you have at least one Auror that Magical Britain will pay attention to.” She considered a moment, clearly trying to think of anything they’d overlooked, then took a step back. “Bring them home, Sergeant.”

“Copy,” Greg agreed.

* * * * *

Harry Potter had spent much of the past half year sulking over his failure to come home with Lancelot and Alanna Calvin. The Wizengamot and, more importantly, his wife had been _highly_ unimpressed to discover that a _Muggle_ had managed to show the war hero up in a simple beast taming challenge. The scorn, long lasting, died away shortly after that same Muggle and his compatriots strolled through the British Ministry of Magic in full battle armor.

Then Canada’s squad of Squib and Squib-born soldiers showed up in Britain, claiming to be on the run from a group of Muggles masquerading as Aurors; they needed Britain to stall the Muggles long enough to complete a small task on the Isle of the Blessed. Most of the DMLE took up the challenge eagerly, but Harry, though prejudiced against the Muggles who had so effectively shown him up, smelled a rat. Accordingly, Harry made sure he was close enough to the International Portkey Department to be on the scene when the Muggles arrived, in all their armored glory. A quick head-count made the veteran Auror frown. They were down two members…and their Auror liaison had changed.

Pressing to the front, he barked at Parker, “Where’s Auror Wilkins?”

Parker’s face contorted in grief…grief that Harry recognized and knew all too well. He bowed his head as the new liaison replied, “I’m sorry, Auror Potter; Auror Wilkins fell in the line of duty several months ago.”

“My condolences,” Harry told them, his words heartfelt. “We hadn’t heard.” He gestured for his fellow Aurors to stand down, frowning as he dug in his memory for the names of the other two missing members. “Has the same happened to…” he trailed off at the alarmed looks he received.

“We hope not,” Lancelot Calvin remarked, shifting to the front. “In truth, Auror Potter, that’s why we’re here. Four nights ago, the Squib Squad kidnapped Auror Braddock from his apartment building; two nights ago, Auror Scarlatti went after him alone and was captured himself.”

Harry drew a sharp breath at the accusation. “That’s a very serious charge, Heir Calvin,” he replied, grave and formal. “What evidence do you have to prove these charges?”

“Auror Onasi?” Lancelot requested, holding out a hand. A folder was dropped in the youth’s palm. Lancelot approached and offered the folder to Harry; he opened it and found himself looking at a series of Muggle images. “These images were taken from the security tape in Auror Braddock’s apartment building. We’ve been able to positively identify two of the kidnappers: Ryan Peck and his deceased brother, Matt Peck.”

Paling sharply, Harry’s eyes fell on the figure that reeked of malice, even in just a picture. “What is this magic?” he whispered, horrified.

“A Shade,” Lancelot said simply. Harry looked down into the boy’s eyes; the boy drew a breath. “My father told me once that you’d promised to help us if we ever needed it, Auror Potter. Well, now we need it.”

Memory flared.

* * * * *

_“Promise me something, Harry. If anything happens to us, be there for my kids when they need it. Help them hold the line against the darkness.”_

_Harry drew in a breath, held it._ _“I promise, Artorius. No matter what, I’ll be there for them. I’ll look after them, take care of them.”_

_A quiet smile. “I appreciate it, Harry, but you know us purebloods. All interrelated…so close you have to wonder about our future sometimes. I’ve got a plan already; just trust me. A good family, a good man. Be the wind at their backs, Harry. We’re first in every desperate attack, last in every desperate retreat; we need good friends to keep us safe.”_

_Harry laughed. “Merlin’s beard, Artorius…are you always so melodramatic?”_

_Sadness lurked in the other man’s eyes. Almost to himself, he murmured, “That’s how a King of Narnia fights, Harry.”_

* * * * *

“Now you need it,” Harry breathed, his gaze just as intent as the lad’s. He turned to his Aurors, his green eyes going emerald hard. “Get a Portkey for the Isle of the Blessed and every Auror trained to fight Necromancers, on the double!” Still grim, he turned back to Lancelot. “Just promise me something, Lancelot.”

The boy cocked his head, a curious look in his eyes.

Harry looked the still-growing teenager in the eye. “Today, _I’m_ the one who goes first in _this_ desperate attack, understood?”

 

[1] Department of Magical Law Enforcement


	9. SYOTOS

Spike growled under his breath from his position, tied to one of the Isle of the Blessed’s macabre statues. Sam, now clad in a JTF2 uniform, was lashed to the small altar that the kids had avoided like the plague months earlier. Sam’s squad had bound him with absolutely no regard for the sniper’s broken right arm. Braddock’s scream as his broken arm was yanked tight against the cold, unforgiving stone ripped through Spike, twin daggers of outrage and anguish in his heart. To the bomb tech’s fury, Sam hadn’t struggled, hadn’t fought; he’d just accepted everything done to him with an air of tired acceptance.

Ryan and Alicia looked gleeful, Matt only marginally less so. Hersh was smirking; now _there_ was a sociopath if Spike had ever seen one. Though distressed, Alex lived up to Sam’s predictions regarding his follow-the-leader tendencies. Only Hawke appeared truly displeased with the turn of events.

“Now we begin,” Ryan announced, moving forward with a dagger in his hand. “We will Mirror Life and Death, granting my brother the life he _should_ have.”

A contemptuous glare was thrown at Sam, who still wasn’t struggling. Spike, grasping a small, sharp pocket knife he’d been able to keep hidden, began to saw at his bonds, working as fast as he could. Ryan held out a hand to Alicia, who offered him an ancient tome with a deep bow. Stepping forward to the altar, Ryan leafed through the tome, locating a page within it. In a loud, ringing voice, Ryan ordered, “ _Ic, seo heahsacerd, the acwelle, strengthe ealdan aewfaestnesse!_ **(2)**”

Spike cringed, but nothing happened. One rope gave under his frantic efforts; he kept going, pushing past the lingering remnants of the curse he’d been hit with.

“You said it would work!” Alicia shrieked. “You said the spell you found was from the Old Religion; you said it would give Matt his _life_ back!”

“It should have,” Ryan growled, examining the text more closely.

The bomb tech pulled at his bonds, but they weren’t loose enough yet to get away.

“Kill him,” Matt ordered. “That will give the magic enough blood to work.”

Ryan looked up at his brother, hesitating an instant, but Spike could see he’d do it…anything to get his brother back. After a moment, Ryan bowed his head. “You’re right, of course; forgive me for delaying, brother.”

A chill crawled up Spike’s spine and he sawed at the second rope with renewed terror; it gave. Spike bolted away from the statue, racing across the grass to Sam; as soon as he got there, he started cutting the ropes holding his teammate down.

“No!” Ryan snarled, drawing his wand. “ _Diffindo!_ ”

Spike twisted, bringing up his left vambrace; it absorbed the hit in a flare of emerald light. Alicia, Hersh, and Alex were forced back as magic flared from the altar itself, reacting to Spike’s armor. A last-ditch idea occurred to Spike as Matt started forward with an enraged howl of his own. “In Aslan’s name, stay back!” Matt halted, his black eyes changing…a panic in them that Spike hadn’t seen before. The ropes on Sam’s wrists gave all at once; Spike didn’t have time to consider why that was, he just hauled Sam off the altar as everything went sideways – and right for the first time in _days_.

* * * * *

Harry was casting as soon as he landed; a Stunner flew at the nearest figure, a man with black hair in a military cut. The man was turning as he was struck and went down without a fight. To Harry’s right, the Muggles charged, brandishing not their usual Muggle weapons, but swords and bows; the Isle was too heavily steeped in magic for modern technology to work properly. To his left, Auror Onasi tangled with a man Harry identified as Hersh; the Squib was doing his level best to kill the Auror with his bare hands and a combat knife.

Jules Callaghan found herself tangling with Alicia Shpak; the young constable lost her bow as Alicia swiped at her with her own combat knife. Jules countered the thrust with a move Alanna had taught her, but both weapons went flying. Deprived of weapons, the two women went at each other with nails and muscle, their hand-to-hand combat skills getting quite the workout as they traded blows and snarls.

Greg Parker ended up opposite Ryan Peck, with his nephew right behind him. The fight was on as Lance deflected an _Incendio_ with a sharp, “ _Gescildan_.” Greg charged, trying to knock the wizard’s wand out of his hand to end the conflict before it could heat up any more. He missed, but his nephew’s swift – and wandless – casting tipped the balance of the fight in the Sergeant’s favor.

Lou’s fight was over before it even started as his opponent eyed him, then lifted both hands in surrender. “Didn’t want any of this anyway,” the blue-eyed, brown haired man admitted. “Was going bad even before we grabbed Braddock.” Despite the surrender, Lou cuffed the man and searched him thoroughly.

Wordy and Ed were almost caught off guard by the Shade; Wordy got his shield up at the last second as it charged. His boots proved their worth yet again as they helped him lean into the hit, sliding only a few centimeters instead of ending up flat on his back and helpless. Ed planted an arrow in the Shade’s shoulder, drawing a yowl of pain from it. Awkward, but determined, Wordy shifted enough to pull his sword loose from its sheath. But before he could attack, before Ed could loose his next arrow, another arrow streaked past and into the Shade’s heart. Violet magic blazed, the runes on the arrowhead flaring and ending the Shade’s rampage before it could go any further.

* * * * *

Spike hauled Sam out of range as Sam’s former squad was distracted by the new arrivals. If he could keep his friend safe _just_ a little longer… But, just as suddenly as backup had appeared, Sam moved, shoving the bomb tech away and pulling a gun. The sniper bolted, racing up the steps into the long-ruined fortress. Spike raced after him, yelling his teammate’s name. When Sam hit the top of the stairs he whirled, aiming his weapon at Spike.

“Stay back!”

“I can’t do that, Sam,” Spike countered, though he was careful to keep both hands in view.

A trapped expression spread over Sam’s face and he began to back away. Spike crept forward, managing to hit the top of the stairs, where he froze in horror as he realized why Sam had turned on him. The steps going further up were long decayed, too broken to use, but Sam didn’t need to go up any more. The sniper was backing towards where there had, long ago, been a wall, but there was no wall any more – just a drop into the ocean surrounding the Isle.

Sam kept his weapon level, even though he held it in his left hand; it was aimed directly at his teammate, whom he no longer recognized. He backed away slowly, step by step – right towards the edge of the crumbling ruin around them. The sniper trembled, his gun jolting and wavering, his body worn down by his treatment at the hands of his former unit. Sweat poured down his face and his blue eyes were dim, murky, and still so horribly blank.

“It was my fault,” he rasped, still backing up, away from Spike.

Black hair flew with the force of its owner’s head shake. “No, Sam, it wasn’t,” he pleaded, his mobile face twisted in fear; not for himself, but for his friend who steadily backed towards a drop into the churning ocean below. “Come on, Sam, come on. This isn’t you,” Spike cried, fear throwing his voice up an octave. “Put the gun down and we can go home, you and me, buddy.”

Sam Braddock shook his head, trembling with the events of the past week, with the delusion he’d been forced into. “I betrayed them,” he retorted, the self-loathing dripping from each word.

Spike edged forward, still keeping his hands in view. “Sam, buddy, you didn’t. Believe me, you didn’t betray _anyone_.” He eyed the distance between his teammate and the edge, trying to keep calm. “Come on, Sam, let’s get the heck out of here and go home; Lou owes me a homecoming party and _you_ owe me a drink or two.” His smile felt strained, fear overriding what negotiating skills he had.

Sam’s brow furrowed, something flashing in his eyes. His body shook, the gun lowering long enough for Spike to sneak a few more steps closer. The sniper gasped, sucking in breath, almost doubling over with a soft moan. But before Spike could close the gap, Braddock had recovered, bringing his gun back up and once again sneaking back towards the edge.

Behind him, the ocean waves leapt upwards, their white caps crashing against the once magnificent island fortress. The roar of those waves sounded greedy, hungry for blood to a certain panicking bomb tech. His teammate and friend backed up another step, the stone under his boots crumbling as the sniper’s weight bore down on it. “Sam, stop!” Spike begged. “I know it feels like everything’s falling apart, but it’s _not_. Put the gun down, get away from the edge, and let’s go _home_ , Samtastic.”

Sam’s eyes flickered, but, as they turned towards Spike, they went opaque again. As he shifted to step back again, he said, “See you on the other side.”

“ _Sam, no!_ ” Spike screamed as the ledge crumbled and Sam fell downwards, towards the hungry waves below.

 

[2] Old English for ‘I, the High Priestess, kill you, by the power of the Old Religion!’


	10. Denying the Reaper

Spike dove forward, seizing Sam’s left wrist at the last second. The bomb tech gasped, struggling to hold on, trying to pull his teammate up with sheer willpower alone. Below him, Sam swung, already fighting, trying to get Spike to let go.

“Sam, stop,” Spike pleaded, “Come on, buddy; I can’t hold you if you keep squirming like this.”

“Then let go,” Sam replied, his voice dead, just as dead as the blue eyes that lifted to Spike’s.

“Not happening,” Spike gritted out.

“Spike! Hang on!” Wordy’s voice, rising over the pounding of Spike’s heart. “We’re coming!”

_Coming too late,_ Spike realized as his body slid forward; he had nothing to brace his boots against and Sam’s weight was pulling them over the edge. “Sam, stop! You’ll pull us both down!”

“Let go,” Sam repeated, still struggling. “I betrayed them; let me fall.”

“No. You. Didn’t,” Spike growled. “Now hold _still!_ ”

Sam, startled by the vehemence in Spike’s voice, finally obeyed, but too late. Spike’s body slid forward again and their precarious balance…tipped. Spike screamed in terror as they both went over, but he didn’t let go; he just tightened his grip.

A bird shriek echoed and the next thing Spike knew, a large violet bird was pacing them, racing downwards at the same speed they were, drawing ahead of their fall. The wings were pinned back in the dive, the bird’s eyes pleading, but Spike didn’t understand.

From above, Wordy’s voice rose again, frantic and desperate, holding to one last chance. _“SPIKE! GRAB HER TAIL!”_

Spike obeyed, reaching out and grabbing hold of the bird’s tail feathers; a jolt ran through him, he felt weightless, even as he and Sam fell. With a shrill of triumph, the bird changed direction, swooping upwards with no regard whatsoever for the laws of physics; to Spike’s utter shock, he and Sam were pulled along behind her with no strain whatsoever. The bird winged skyward, racing up just as quickly as they’d fallen and reaching the ledge in seconds. Wordy, his face paler than a ghost, was there; he grabbed Spike and hauled both him and Sam to safety. The bird, relieved of her burden, swept around Wordy in an almost smug manner.

“Yeah, you did a good job, girl…now stop being so smug,” Wordy chided the bird absently as he checked his teammates over.

Spike, gasping for air, looked up at the fluttering bird. “Wordy?” he asked, packing an entire question in the one word.

“Phoenix,” Sam rasped, staring even more than Spike. “That’s a phoenix…why did it save us?”

The phoenix twittered in indignation at the very question, Wordy’s frown just as indignant. Spike stepped in. “Wordy, they did something to Samtastic…he doesn’t recognize me at _all_ and when I tried to get him to remember, he had a seizure or something.”

Wordy’s expression cleared, turning more worried than indignant. “Any ideas?” he asked the phoenix, who gave the impression of shrugging in reply. The brunet sighed, securing the gun Sam had pointed at Spike while Spike helped Sam up and kept him as far away from the ledge as possible. Once was quite enough, thank you.

* * * * *

Ed closed in on the one cooperative kidnapper, his expression a storm cloud. Yanking his target up, he growled, “What did you do to Sam?”

“Not me,” Hawke denied. “Ryan did it; used a real old spell that they used to use in the days of the Old Religion…meant to make the victim relive a ‘life’ they’d left behind.”

“How do we break it?” Lou demanded from behind Ed.

Hawke shook his head. “Don’t know. All Ryan would say was that it needed a password…and whatever it is…he thought it was the funniest thing ever.” His brow furrowed in thought. “He-He did say something else.”

“What?” Ed barked.

“The door swings both ways,” Hawke dutifully reported.

Lou frowned, something about the phrase niggling at him.

* * * * *

Spike’s expression was thoughtful; he mouthed the phrase Hawke had given them to himself several times. Then he looked over at Sam, being checked over by the Healer that Auror Potter had dragged along; the sniper was being _very_ contrary, snarling and snapping in a highly uncharacteristic fashion. “See you on the other side,” Spike whispered, staring at his teammate. Though he’d whispered, Sam’s head came up and focused on him, something underneath that blankness, flickering and straining to come through.

“The door swings…the other side…” Spike looked up at the sky, his eyes narrowing, his mind racing. There was a place they came together and he meant to figure out _where_.

“Peck,” Sam snipped at the wizard being hauled away, still struggling wildly against the British Auror who was dragging him.

Spike’s eyes bugged wide as the pieces clicked. “Wait!” he yelled, before the Auror could haul Peck to the departure point. Bounding over, Spike gave Ryan Peck a smug grin. “Lou! 1984, _Ghostbusters_ …what did Egon Spengler say about the gateway above Dana Barrett’s apartment?”

Lou blinked at the sudden movie reference, then his eyes narrowed in thought. “The door…swings both ways.”

Sam looked between the two, more alert than he’d been since before all of this had started.

With a grin growing ever wider, Spike turned away from Ryan Peck, who was now fighting with everything he had to get loose, snarling fury. “See you on the other side, Dr. Stantz,” he intoned solemnly, eyes dancing.

Lou’s responding grin was pure mischief. “It’s been an honor, Dr. Venkman.”

“ _No!_ ” Ryan howled, but it was too late.

Sam gasped, collapsing forward as if he’d been punched in the gut, heaving and wheezing for air. Magic swirled around him, folding in on itself; the spell broke with an audible _crack_. The sniper looked up, awareness finally, _finally_ , in his eyes. Then he crumpled like a little boy, the grief and self-resentment surging higher than ever.

“Sam?” Spike questioned, crouching next to his teammate, confused when Sam refused to look at him.

The blond curled in on himself, cringing away from Spike. “I almost _shot_ you,” he cried.

Spike shook his head, getting in close. “Easy, Sam; it wasn’t you, it wasn’t your fault.”

“Sam.” At Wordy’s voice, both men looked up. “Take a look at this,” Wordy ordered, holding out the evidence bag containing the gun Sam had pointed at his own teammate.

When Sam wouldn’t take the bag, Spike did; his jaw dropped and he thrust the evidence bag at Sam, his eyes triumphant. Sam blinked in confusion and, at Spike’s insistent look, took the evidence bag, studying the gun. For an instant, the confusion stayed and even deepened; then the pale sniper straightened, life coming back into his eyes. Spike glanced down at the weapon and started laughing. The magazine was empty and the safety was still on.

* * * * *

One final thing remained to be dealt with. The Narnian Knights reassembled to deal with a repeat of events from over fifteen centuries earlier. A Shade, bound to the Necromancer who’d raised it, even in death. When Sir Lancelot had been bound, the spell to free _him_ had failed, utterly. To let the same happen to Sam’s one time best friend was unthinkable. But where the Old Religion, where Latin magic, faltered, there was yet one further option.

“He stopped when you invoked the name of Aslan?” Lance inquired, looking at Spike.

“Yeah,” Spike confirmed, confused. “Didn’t really think about it…plus the ropes on Samtastic gave right then.”

The young man looked down at the Shade, thinking for a moment. “In Aslan’s name,” he whispered to himself. Then he straightened, looking over at Alanna. “Watch him, ‘Lanna. I’ll do the spell, but you keep your eyes open.”

For once, Alanna did not give her brother any static for ‘protecting’ her; she simply inclined her head.

Lance stepped to the Shade’s head, solemn and resolute. His eyes glowed gold, magic swirling as he summoned it. “ _Beinnan Aslan gescéadnes, grith faestne mid thisse tintregedan sáwol!_ **(3)**”

Golden light shimmered around the Shade and its eyes opened; the black faded back to brown and Sam found himself looking in his best friend’s eyes. “Sam,” Matt whispered. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” Sam whispered back, crouching down by his best friend. “If I could take it back…”

“Don’t,” Matt rebuked, a little strength coming back. “You’re where you belong, Sam.” He looked up at Sam’s teammates. “A family, huh? Just like you always wanted.”

“Yeah,” Sam admitted. Even softer, he whispered, “See you on the other side, Matt.”

Matt’s smile was sad, curling his mouth. “Maybe, maybe not, Sam. It’s been an honor.” Then his eyes slipped closed again, his body slumping.

Sam stared at his best friend, tears shining in his eyes; Alanna hugged the sniper, burrowing her head into his chest. Sam pulled her close, hugging her back and hiding his tears in her shirt. “Thanks, kiddo,” he whispered. After a minute, Sam pushed himself back to his feet, his shoulders settling in place, his gaze clear.

“Take all the time you need, Sam,” Sarge urged.

“I’m good, Sarge,” Sam replied, glancing down for a moment. “Matt died two years ago…that Shade wasn’t _him_ , it couldn’t be. And…” the sniper stumbled to a halt, then looked around at his team…his friends. “I’ve got a new team now.”

“That you do,” Sarge agreed, his smile as warm as Alanna’s hug. “Let’s go home.”

* * * * *

Do not stand at my grave and weep  
I am not there. I do not sleep.  
I am a thousand winds that blow.  
I am the diamond glints on snow.  
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.  
I am the gentle autumn rain.  
When you awaken in the morning's hush  
I am the swift uplifting rush  
Of quiet birds in circled flight.  
I am the soft stars that shine at night.  
Do not stand at my grave and cry;  
I am not there. I did not die.  
 _~Mary Elizabeth Frye_

 

_~ Fin_

 

[3] Old English for ‘In Aslan’s name, give peace to this tormented soul!’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And cut! I want to thank all my commenters and all my readers for hanging with me through this wild ride. Next up, "Blessings", which starts on January 23rd, 2018.


End file.
